A GIFT.
It was given him in youth,
Bestowed by a kingly hand;
Sweet as the flower of truth,
When its first fair buds expand.
It was given him to prize,
To guard with a jealous care;
This gift in a humble guise
But precious beyond compare.
It was given him—he turned
From promise so close concealed,
Although in his soul he yearned
To follow the unrevealed.
He turned from a gift which came
In the flush of boyhood days,
It clung to him just the same
As he trod the world's wild maze.
It was given him—it slept,
But would not be cast aside;
Till into his heart it crept
A-quiver with love and pride.
Yes, into his heart it crept,
He worked with a new-born skill;
And whether he laughed or wept
He worked with a steadfast will.
It was given him—he caught
It close to his heaving breast
And a miracle was wrought,
For a genius stood confessed.
The gift which he held the least
Was the gift the Lord had sent;
Lo, the angel at the feast
He had misnamed, discontent.